


Mine is the Voice

by lielabell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, DTR, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mentions of canon typical violence, Miscommunication, Multi, Polyamory, Post Break Up, Survivor Guilt, Teen Wolf Pack Charity Project, Threesome - F/M/M, Trauma, fall out from the Alpha Pack, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica calls them her boys because she likes how it makes Boyd roll his eyes and Stiles go all smug.  She likes the way the rest of the pact reacts to it too, how Lydia's mouth goes all tight and pinched, the baffled-but-supportive look on Scott's face, the flair of white-hot jealousy that spikes in Derek's scent.  But mostly she loves that it's <i>true</i>.  That they are hers, body and soul, and no one will ever be able to take them away from her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine is the Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aftertheapes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aftertheapes).



> Ahahahaha. This fic is epically late, so I would like to start by thanking aftertheapes for being patient with me about how long it was taking. I upped the word count from 3k to 5k as a sort of "sorry I suck" gift. 
> 
> The original ask for this fic was: _I really want to read something about Stiles/Boyd/Erica bonding over their post-Gerard encounter in the basement. Obviously I'm hoping it evolves into something physical but if they end up becoming codependent best friends that's cool too :)_
> 
> I hope this works for you, bb. <3
> 
> Even more thanks go to Queenitsy, who was the cheerleader and beta on this one and put up with a lot of dithering from me. *smooshes her tight*
> 
> **WARNING: This fic contains slight spoilers for season three. I'm sure it will be jossed to hell and back tomorrow, but still.**

Stiles takes a deep breath, girding his loins as it were, then nods to himself, slides his key into the lock and opens the door. The house is dark, of course it's dark. He purposely picked a time he knew no one would be home to come over. Still, it feels weird. Like he's somewhere he shouldn't be, which is just ridiculous, because hi. They gave him a key for a reason. 

Except...

Except the reason was definitely not this: him skulking into the house in the middle of the day like some kind of thief with the aim of stealing the last of his things out of their life. Stiles sighs and leans back against the entryway wall, feeling exceedingly sorry for himself, even though, in the end, it's all his fault. 

He knew from the get-go how this would end. He _knew_. And he had been okay with it. Alright, so not really _okay_ okay, but okay enough to go along with it, okay enough to say yes. And it had been fine, better than fine. Amazing, actually. For about five years, it was pretty damn awesome. But... well. All good things must end, and this particular good thing has clearly run its course. 

*

The knock on his door came at two in the morning, which was something that never boded well. He stumbled through the living room, blearily undid the the locks and then blinked at a desolate looking Erica. 

"Catwoman?" Stiles’s brow furrowed as he took in the disheveled hair, red rimmed eyes, and inside-out sweatshirt. 

Erica squeezed her eyes shut tight and then sucked in a breath as she swayed on his doorstep. 

"Are you alright?" Stiles asked as he ushered her inside and over to the worn couch. 

She pitched forward onto it, her hands bunching in the baggy fabric of the sweater. "Boyd tried to break up with me," she whispered, hunching into herself.

"What?” Stiles dropped down beside her and ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, what the hell? Really? Why would he, that is, are you alright?" 

“Do I look like I’m alright?” Erica snapped at him, rage animating her features for a moment before draining away into despondency. She bit at her lower lip, eyes sliding away from his. “I talked him out of it, got him to agree to take some time, to think about things, but,” her hand shook as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “but he wants to leave, he says it’s not fair to me, that I deserve better. What the fuck, Stiles? How can he say that?”

There was a pause, like she was waiting for an answer, one that Stiles so didn’t have, then she shook her head and continued. 

"He says he still loves me," she said with a self-deprecating shrug. "He says he wants to be with me, he just doesn't," she paused, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "He doesn't know how. He says he's not..." Erica made an unhappy sound. “I just, why is it so hard for us now? It wasn’t hard before--” She cut off, eyes dropping to the floor. “Maybe it’s just as well, maybe I ought to just end it. It’s obvious he’s not, he doesn’t--” Her words ended in a choked off sob.

“No, _no_.” Stiles reached out and tugged her into him, pushing her face into his shoulder so that he could pet her hair while she cried. “You and Boyd, you’re something special. Something amazing,” he told her, voice soft but confident. “You know you are. And, yeah, I know things are shit right now, understandably shit, because, wow. Boyd thought you died. I mean, we all thought you died, but Boyd watched it happen and,” Stiles sucked in a breath, “and it messed with his head, and so maybe he needs space or whatever, but you two are golden. Do you hear me, Erica? You’re goddamn golden. So don’t. Just,” he shook his head again, “just don’t. Okay?”

Erica shuddered against him, hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. She took a deep breath, then pushed back and stared up at him with deadened eyes. "He says he feels guilty, and he can’t, you know.” She gestured at her lap. “Not after what happened. That's what the whole breaking up with me thing was about. He didn't think it was fair. He said he knows how much I love sex, that he wants me to be able to have a normal relationship. I'm a fucking werewolf, Stiles. What the hell is normal about that?"

Stiles lifted a shoulder, feeling completely useless. 

“And what, does he think that sex is all I care about? Does he really think that I’ll leave him because he’s not, because I’m not, god!” Her eyes flashed gold and she let out a snarl. “Why is this so hard?” she asked again, and again Stiles didn’t have an answer.

"But he wants to make it work, right?" he offered, for lack of anything better to say.

Erica snorted. "He told me that if I wanted to stay with him, then I should find someone else to fuck." 

Stiles let out a disbelieving sound. “That doesn’t sound like Boyd to me.”

She made a face. “Okay, so he didn’t say those words exactly, but that’s what he meant. He thinks I should have someone on the side to ‘see to my needs.’ He said that it would take the pressure off or whatever.”

Stiles sucked on his bottom lip as silence stretched out between them. “Maybe you should think about it,” he finally said. “If he thinks it will help, maybe you shouldn’t discount it out of hand.”

*

"Stiles."

Stiles jumps, clutching at his chest. "Jesus, Boyd. How many times have I told you not to do that?" He glances up at Boyd, a mock glare on his face. He's expecting to see a pleased smile on Boyd's face, same as there always is when the bastard purposely startles him, but Boyd isn't smiling at all. Instead he looks... haunted. Like he's looking at a ghost. "Hey big guy, you alright?"

Boyd doesn't answer right away, just stares at Stiles with that careworn look on his face. 

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. "I mean, it's the middle of the day. Aren't you supposed to be working?" 

He expects Boyd to roll his eyes, make a blunt comment about how ironic it is that Stiles is questioning Boyd's presence in his own house, instead of the other way round, but Boyd doesn't say anything. Just looks at Stiles with that blank expression he uses when he doesn't want his emotions to show. Stiles clears his throat, shifts from foot to foot, and tries to think of something to say, but his words have deserted him, the traitors. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and then shuts it again with a huff while Boyd watches him, as stoic and enigmatic as a cat.

"I, uh, there's some books I think I left," Stiles says, gesturing towards the living room. "And, um, maybe some DVDs? And I think I left my Mets jersey, which I'm sure you'll say is no loss at all, but once a fan, always a fan, and I know you aren't going to get any use out of it so..." He trails off with a lifted shoulder and a half smile. "Do you mind?"

Boyd lets out a huff, shakes his head and steps to the side. "Do what you want," he says, his voice surprisingly raw. "You always did."

*

Stiles was sprawled on his stomach on his bed, studying for finals, when Erica blasted her way into his room like she owed it. Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her leather jacket and she snapped her bubble gum as she dramatically flipped her hair. She stomped her way over to his bed, skin-tight black skirt riding high on her thighs, then came to a stop in front of him, legs spread apart, one hip popped, looking like sex in heels.

Stiles let out an appreciative whistle. "Looking good there, Reyes."

"You bet your ass I am," she replied, flashing him her man-eater smile.

Stiles marked his place and then flipped his textbook shut. "What's up, buttercup?" he asked, because he knew it would make her smile-- for real this time-- even if she tried to hide it with an eye-roll.

Erica didn’t disappoint, she even tossed in an I-am-so-not-amused quirk of the eyebrows too, before giving him another dose of her bedroom eyes and all but purring, "I've got a proposition for you."

Stiles leered at her, pushing up onto his elbows. "Oh yeah?" he asked as he rubbed his lower lip with the side of his thumb. His eyes went half lidded and he gave her a slow smile, more than willing to play her game.

Erica leaned forward, bending at the hips, letting him get an eyeful of her girls. "I want you," she said, and something about her voice made Stiles’s skin tingle.

"Want me for what?"

Erica's smile went feral. “You know what.” She spread her legs a tad wider, canting her hips further forward. 

A light clicked on in his head and Stiles scowled. “Fuck off, Reyes,” he said as he returned his attention back to his textbook.

“Stiles.” She bit out his name like a curse.

“I’m not playing that game with you,” he said curtly, not bothering to look up.

“Stiles,” her voice was soft now, uncertain. “Stiles, please.” 

He looked up, against his better judgement, and winced at the raw expression on her face. “Erica,” he started to say, but was cut off by the press of her mouth against his.

It was a shock, like getting his head dunked in ice water, or stepping on a tack, except those things were bad, and this kiss was the opposite of that... _good_ like few things in Stiles’s life ever were. 

Her mouth was soft, barely brushing his, then hot and eager and all those things people don't talk about when they talk about kissing. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle. It was teeth and tongues and her nails scratching through his hair, her body pressed tight against his as she rocked her hips. It was everything and nothing and all Stiles could do was gasp and hold on tight. 

When it was over, god. 

When it was over, Stiles knew he would never be the same. 

*

"So, uh, how is she?" Stiles asks when the oppressive silence gets to be too much. Boyd doesn't respond, not that Stiles expects him to, just stands in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, that I'm-judging-you-right-now look on his face.

"Right." Stiles lets out a sigh and scrubs his face with his hand. "God, look, just--" he trails off with another sigh, then shoves a book angrily into a box. "Whatever."

"Whatever," Boyd repeats, his voice devoid of emotion, the way it only gets when he's at Hulk level of upset.

Stiles knows he should keep his mouth shut, knows that anything he says is just going to break things even more, but he can't. He just _can't_. He makes a frustrated sound, shoves at the box of books so hard it tips over, and then explodes, "You know why I don't get? How any of this is a surprise at all. Like, hi. It was a temporary arrangement. There was always, always an expiration date. It was obvious from day one. She needed to get off and, hey, there I was. Willing to hand over the orgasms, free of charge. And I knew that she didn't care about me, that I was just a means to a fucking end, but _I'm_ the dick for ending it. I'm the bad guy. Even though we both knew that you were the only star in her sky."

Boyd pushes off of the wall, sucks in a breath like he wants to say something, but Stiles is not done. Stiles is nowhere near done. 

"And, no, I'm not saying I was a victim or anything. Hell no, I wasn't. It was hot and I loved every goddamn second, but I knew what I was signing on for. I knew that you were her snuggle-muffin and that someday you would," he waves his hands through the air, "be all better again or whatever and that would be that."

Boyd growls, deep in his throat, and his eyes flash, but Stiles just shakes his head. "I'm not diminishing what you went through and how much it took to get back to where you could be comfortable with her again. God, I know, alright. I know how much of a struggle it was and how hard you worked and I'm so damn proud of you, Boyd, you have no idea. But... I mean, come on. She doesn't need me any more. She's got _you_."

Stiles lets out a broken laugh. "And that's great, that's wonderful because the two of you..." He shakes his head. "The two of you are like, magic fairy tale love. The best kind of love. The kind of love people dream about having. So why would I try to stand in the way of that?"

Stiles’s voice is quiet now, all the anger leached out of him, as he stares down at the mess he's made. Ironically fitting, that. 

"You're so--" Boyd starts, then cuts off with a snarl. Stiles looks up in time to see his fist slam into the living room wall. 

"Boyd!" Stiles is on his feet and across the room before he realizes what he's doing, hands coming up to squeeze Boyd's shoulders. The man is trembling, his head bowed, eyes shut as he pants. "Boyd?"

"I don't understand," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never understood how can you see so much, and still be so blind."

"I just," Stiles huffs out an empty laugh, feeling like all the energy has drained out of him. "I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have let it get to me. I should have just, I don't know, found a way to keep my distance. But Erica is... _Erica_. How can you not love her? How can you not get all twisted up inside at the thought of having her in your life? Even if it's just because--" Stiles cuts off with a curse. "God, why am I even telling you this? This isn't anything you want to hear. I mean, I've already fucked things up enough as is. I don't need to add to my fail by whining to you about how much I love your girlfriend."

Boyd makes a low, pained sound, shaking his head. "Do you know what you mean to her?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Do you have any idea what you did to her, walking out like that? Do you know how it made her feel, knowing that you think that you were nothing but a stand-in? And don't even get me started on what complete and utter bullshit that is, Stilinski. Because fuck that. Fuck you feeling used and wronged or whatever, but that isn't what we were."

"Yeah, I like how you said 'we' there," Stiles snarks, rolling his eyes. "There was no 'we.' There was you and Erica and me and Erica. And some fairly awesome moments of me and you, but there was never any you and me and Erica all in a room together at the same time having normal, uncomplicated adult time together. So, yeah. You can take that 'we' and," Stiles pick the knocked over cardboard box, "shove it up your ass."

"Is that what this is about?" 

Stiles wants to scream because _no_ , that’s not what this is about at all. But screaming won’t do any good, so instead he just sucks in a steadying breath and turns back towards the bookcase. 

"Look," Stiles says to the shelves. "Look, I still care about her, alright? As more than a friend. I can't... I just _can't_ right now. It," he sighs. "I'm not stupid. I knew what I was getting into. I knew what was on offer. I've got no one but myself to blame if my feelings got hurt, because I _knew_. But... I couldn't say no, couldn't even think about saying no. And once I was in it..." He shakes his head. 

"You guys mean the world to me. You and Erica are..." Stiles lets out a breath. "Just, just give me some time. I'll get over this, I will. And we can go back to being buddy-buddy again. You and me and Erica, we'll be bros. The tres amigos. I just need some space, is all. A little breathing room. So I can sort out my," he waves a hand, "mess."

Boyd snorts, his mouth going all tight and pinched. "Do you really think you are the only one whose feelings got messy?" he asks in a bored drawl. "Do you honestly believe that, Stiles? Because you aren't typically the clueless one in our group." Boyd cocks his head to the side and smirks and something inside of Stiles aches at the sight. 

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, hunching in on himself defensively. "I want too much," he says to himself.

"I don't think you want enough," Boyd replies.

Stiles wants to reply, wants to rebut Boyd’s ridiculous premise, but he doesn’t know how.

The thing is, it wasn’t just the kissing and the touching and the frankly awesome sex that got to Stiles. It was _Erica_. Brilliant, beautiful Erica, who was full of vim and vigor, who laughed with her whole body and was as likely to sneer as smile. She lit up any room she was in and Stiles couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to get to touch, to get to share in that light.

And Boyd... Boyd is different from anyone Stiles has ever known. So calm, collected. He's the embodiment of what Stiles assumes a zen master is like, but he's not cold or humorless or anything. He's got a sense of humor that rivals Stiles’s own, and a bit of a sarcastic streak in him too. And watching him with Erica... it's like watching pelicans in flight, moving together seamlessly through the air, perfectly in tune with one another.

Stiles knew he wasn’t really a part of that, not really a member of their group, but he didn't need to be. It was enough that he got to witness it, to see them sprawled together on their couch, bickering about what show to put on or working together in the kitchen-- washing, drying, and putting away with little smiles and winks and gentle touches. They were brilliant together, golden just like he always said, and Stiles relished in the thought that he had made that possible. 

Sure, it was just sex. Sure, he was only a stand in, providing what Erica needed while Boyd healed the emotional scars left from what the alphas did to them. But still. He had a role, he had a purpose. He had a place in their lives.

But that’s over now, and Stiles isn’t foolish enough to outstay his welcome.

*

"Boyd wants to watch," Erica said, her voice confident, but her eyes refusing to meet his own. 

Stiles swallowed, hard. "Um," he said, caught off guard.

Erica's eyes flicked to his, then back down to her nails, which she had painted fire engine red again. "He doesn't want to _do_ anything, says he's not ready for that yet, but," she caught her lip between her teeth and lifted a shoulder. "Watching he's okay with. At least, he thinks he'll be okay with it, anyway."

Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Alright," he said, because he couldn't say no. Not when he knew how much it meant to Erica for Boyd to even make the offer. 

"Are you sure?" Erica stepped closer, put a hand on his arm. "You don't have to, you know. You can say no. Neither of us will think any less of you."

 _I would think less of me_ , Stiles thought, but he kept that to himself. He plastered a wide grin on his face instead, and said, "I always have had a huge ‘someone's watching’ kink, anyway." Which wasn't even a lie. Of course, in his fantasy it was never the estranged lover of his current lover watching, but, well. Real life wasn't a fantasy and this thing with Boyd and Erica meant more to him than any awkwardness that might come up during sex.

Erica frowned at him, obviously still concerned, but she didn't call him on it, just nodded her head slowly. "Alright then. He'll be there. Next time."

"I’m looking forward to it," Stiles replied.

And, funnily enough, he was.

Which wasn’t to say that it wasn’t awkward as hell, because it was. Oh god, it was. 

Stiles didn't know where look--should he stare at Erica and ignore Boyd completely or try and smile at Boyd and pretend like he wasn't fingering the other man's mate? His eyes kept skittering towards Boyd, then away, and, to his eternal embarrassment, he was having a hard time keeping it up. He was just about to throw in the towel when Boyd let out a low moan that shot though Stiles, making his cock thicken and his balls draw tight.

He bit down hard on Erica's neck and she gasped, arching under him, and suddenly it wasn't awkward at all. It was hot, damn hot. The hottest thing Stiles had ever been part of and Stiles never wanted it to end.

 

*

Stiles closes his eyes, draws in breath after breath as he tries to center himself. It doesn't help, not really. Doesn't make the ache in his chest any less painful, make him feel like he isn't a ship that's lost its anchor. He clenches his fists, telling himself that he just needs to push through this. That, yes, it hurts, and yes, it's horrible and unfair, but it is what it is and it's not like anyone meant for any of this to happen.

Stiles opens his eyes, glances at Boyd, then away, staring back over his shoulder at the toppled over box, at the books scattered on the floor.

"We love you," Boyd says, the words sounding as broken and hurt as Stiles feels. "Why can't you understand that we love you?"

Stiles makes a raw sound and opens his mouth, but Boyd cuts him off with a shake of the head.

"No," Boyd says, his voice hard, but eyes soft, almost pleading. "No, you be quiet for a minute and just listen. You don't have to do this. You don't have to pack up and walk away. You have a place here, with us, if you want it. A place in our lives, in our home. We," he cocks his head to the side and smiles, "we work better when you are around."

Stiles snorts. "You work just fine without me."

"No, actually, we don't," Boyd snaps, pushing off of the living room wall and into Stiles’s space, a determined look in his eyes.

*

"Can I touch you?" Boyd asked, about three months after that first time. He was sitting in his customary chair, about five feet from the bed. "Please, Stiles, let me touch you."

Stiles bit down hard on his lip and looked towards Erica for direction. She pushed up onto her knees, crawled back on the bed until her back was pressed against the headboard, and then nodded, her eyes wide and her breath coming quick. "Say yes, Stiles," she told him. "Oh, god, please say yes."

Stiles didn't say anything, just moved off the bed, walked over to where Boyd was sitting, and dropped to his knees.

*

Boyd's lips against his are startling-- same as that first kiss of Erica's was. Stiles gasps and Boyd easily slips inside his open mouth. Boyd's tongue slides against Stiles's is slow and easy, driving Stiles mad with the unhurried pace. 

It shouldn't be soft and gentle, not with the emotions rising off of them. It should be hard, fast, achingly desperate. It should be letting go, a release. One final moment together. The conclusion to all that came before. But... but it's not. Stiles doesn't understand why it's not. 

His hands tighten on Boyd's shoulders and Stiles genuinely doesn't know if he's going to pull the other man close or shove him away, can't seem to make up his mind about what is the best option here, the most sensible thing to do. And how can he, when Boyd's fingers are twisting in his hair, when Boyd's teeth are biting at his lips, and Boyd's body is pressed up so tight against his own?

"Please," he says, " _please_." He doesn't know what he's asking for, doesn't know anything anymore. Just knows that it feels right when Boyd's hands start running up and down his sides as he soothes Stiles with sweet, slow kisses.

*

He walked in on them together. That was how he found out. He came home-- because that's what their house was to him, _home_ \-- and found them tangled up together on the couch. Boyd's jeans were bunched around his ankles, his boxers a tight line around his thighs. Erica's shirt was missing, the cups of her bra pulled down to expose her nipples, and she was riding him. God, it was mesmerizing, watching the way her hips moved. So damn mesmerizing that Stiles forgot, for a moment, to do anything but watch.

Then Boyd let out a low moan, his fingers flexing in the smooth skin of Erica's hips, and just like that, reality snapped back into place. Stiles slammed his way out of their apartment, heart beating triple time as he was forced to face the fact that he had outlived his usefulness. 

*

"I'm sorry," Boyd says, when he finally breaks their kiss. "I'm sorry that we didn't tell you, that we kept it from you. I, she--" Boyd closes his eyes, sucks in a breath, and then tries again. "We had talked about it, telling you. We were planning on doing it soon, I swear. We wanted to take you out first, have dinner at the French place you like so much, soften you up with some wine, take you home and blow your mind. We were going to tell you afterward, when you were comfortable and relaxed, tangled up in our arms the way you always are after good sex, so you wouldn't freak out." 

Stiles snorts. "Sure you were," he says derisively. 

"Stiles." Boyd's voice is pleading, edging on desperate, but it doesn't slow Stiles down, doesn't do anything but makes him more tense. 

"It doesn't matter how you were going to break it to me, we still would have ended up here. Maybe it would have been easier to take if you had been upfront about it, but it would have still signaled the end. You have to know it would."

Boyd shakes his head, letting out a frustrated sound. "No. Damn it, Stiles, _no_. That was the whole point, we were going to explain how it didn't change anything. We were going to make you understand that you’re still a part of us. We knew you what you would think, what you would assume, and we wanted to, I don't know, trap you in that bed with us if we had to, keep you there until you understood that nothing was different, that nothing had to change."

He swallows, runs a hand down his face, and then gives Stiles a look so broken and sad that it makes Stiles’s throat ache. "You weren't supposed to leave. You were never supposed to leave. I promised Erica I wouldn't let that happen, Stiles. I promised her."

Stiles sneers at him. "What? I was just supposed to stick around and hope that you two would still want me, now that your problems were all fixed?" He shakes his head. "I've got to go. Just keep my shit, alright? Or throw it out or whatever. I don't care anymore." He makes for the front door, but Boyd moves in front of him, eyes wild. 

“Damn it, Stiles, will you stop for a second and just fucking listen to me? Of course we still want you. How is that even a question? Of course we do. This is what we are now. You and me and Erica. That’s what makes it work. We want you here, with us. We want you to be ours, for real this time, not just as a favor or because we're going through a rocky patch, but because you love us and we love you and things just work better when the three of us are together." Boyd's hands come up and bunch in the front of Stiles's shirt. "Please," he says again, voice breaking on the word. "Give us a chance."

Stiles's heart is beating way too fast, his gut feels like it's full of hot lead, and his palms are sweaty. But none of that matters when compared to the faint seed of hope that's blooming in his chest. "No more secrets," he says and Boyd lets out a relieved breath. "No more keeping me in the dark. If I'm in this, I'm in it. All the way, no matter what."

"Yes, of course," Boyd promises.

Stiles chews on his lip then nods. "What time will Erica be home tonight?" he asks.

Boyd tilts his head back, thinking. "Six thirty or so," he answers. 

"Right." Stiles nods again. "I'll be here at seven then and we can talk. I'm not making any promises, I'm just saying I'm willing to talk."

And, funnily enough, he actually is.


End file.
